Hand in hand with fairy grace
by Svetlanacat
Summary: "The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve; lovers to bed; 'tis almost fairy time."William Shakespeare. There are many ways to keep somebody to his promise... Illya/Napoleon... slash... Thanks to Uncle Charlie...


_A complete story but it's, in a way, the epilogue of Once upon a Time... _

_Thanks gain to Uncle Charlie for her help, and her invaluable advices._

He cautiously shut the door and leaned back against the wall. The room was bathed in the moonlight and the man on the four-poster bed was soundly asleep. A very appropriate bed... The sheets gracefully wrapped Napoleon's hips. As usual. Illya chuckled deep inside when he thought how easily he was getting entangled in the same mischievous sheets... His partner didn't react to his presence. In his innermost being, something knew that he hadn't to fear. So... here was the Sleeping Beauty... Napoleon had complained about it and... what he had said was amazing.

_-I was casted as the Prince Charming. I played the part of the Sleeping Beauty. Okay. So why didn't I get MY Prince Charming?_

_-I'm sorry ; I was a little busy. I didn't find time to get a Princess Charming. But you'll easily find one..._

_-Did I say « __**Princess**_ _Charming__"?_

And, of course, they had burst into laughter. Because, of course, it was a joke. In no time at all... In the wink of an eye... Napoleon's gaze had drifted towards a pretty brunette, Illya had shrugged his shoulders with an exaggerated sigh. As usual. Many things happen in a wink of an eye. The wind blows a leaf. A tire bursts. A bullet goes through your heart. Your partner's eyes look at you inquiringly. You miss a beat. And both of you burst into laughter.

Life had gone on.

The day before... the day before, it was his birthday. He was coming back home, after a long and boring mission, and he had found, on his coffee table, a wrapped gift. Perrault's tales.

It could be a joke.

It could be ...

The « Sleeping Beauty » lied on his bed. He was waiting for his Prince Charming... Perhaps.

_He is here.. Angry ? Curious ? What is he going to do ?_

Illya took a step forward. One more. One again. Until he found himself just aside the bed. He didn't dare breathe. Had he misinterpreted the gift, all his life would be blasted.

_He is just beside the bed. What is he going to do ?_

He leaned over the so well known face, and got closer. The closest he could without touching Napoleon's lips with his own. He closed his eyes. He knew that the contact would be made, everything could happen. Most probably, his partner would hit the assailant, stun him, kill him. Then, he would recognize Illya. And he would despise him. Look at him with a disgusted horror. Too late. He lost his balance and his own lips brushed Napoleon's. He hastily withdrew, panting and opened his eyes. The Sleeping beauty was fully awake, gently chuckling, and his hazel eyes sparkled... with... desire ?

-And what happens, now ?

Illya recovered his breath.

-You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Beauty. All you had to do was to wake up, and...

-And ? You kissed me...Nobody knows what happens just after the kiss...

-The Prince Charming is supposed to see the Beauty opening her... er... his eyes... You cheated !

-So, let's do it again... I sleep. Do your job, Prince Charming...

And Napoleon Solo closed his eyes. Illya smiled, and leaned again over his friend... As his lips brushed again Napoleon's... Two strong hands grabbed him, pulled him down, and rolled him along the bed. The Awaken Beauty was lying on the Prince Charming, taking most of his weight on his elbows, his hands around the Russian's wrists. Illya sighed.

-You are really a shameful sleeping beauty, my friend.

-Am I ?

Napoleon kissed him, his tongue probing his mouth. He released his grip and his hands cupped Illya's face.

-Let's be a little imaginative, Illya.

Then, the left hand deftly caressed the neck, as the right one, innocently, made his way down. But the supple body turned and tossed, extricating himself from his partner's weight.

-You try to outdo me, Napoleon ? It won't be so easy.

As he spoke, Illya Kuryakyn pulled out the sheet. Napoleon Solo lied, stark naked, obviously not indifferent. The Russian knelt beside him, and began to carefully unbutton his shirt, with a mischievous smile. The older agent hissed

-How romantic ! Then, you'll fold it ? Hang it in the clos...

His partner had freed himself from the shirt and leaned slightly forward. Just in the moonlight. The amazing sight let him wordless. The usually fair skin and the usually fair hair were sparkling silver. The supple body straightened up, and a hand loosed the belt, the pants... There was no more smile on his face. Just wide open blue eyes. Alluring. Napoleon Solo forced himself to remain totally still. So unusual... And not so unpleasant.

_He is so damn beautiful..._

And the silver silhouette fell upon him, taking his breath away. He instinctively wrapped his arms around Illya, and his friend hugged him in a fierce embrace, in return.

Napoleon was shocked with excitement. The tight, lithe body was slowly rubbing his own. Illa's pants delightfully brushed his groin. Not only his pants. Napoleon's arousal was obvious... So was Illya's. The said pants were soon tore off, and the naked bodies came into full contact. Perfectly still. Just breathing. Illya's mouth on his neck. Suddenly, the Russian rolled aside, kneeling again beside a frustrated Napoleon.

-What... what are you doing, yet ?

Illya looked at him with amusement... but his blushing cheeks were telling another story. Not only the cheeks... As Napoleon's eyes stared at his friend's penis...

-Shhhh, let me do...

A hand leisurely came on his forehead,, and soft fingers slid down, along his nose. They brushed his lips, lingered over the cleft of his chin, drummed on his Adam's apple, and lied limply on his collarbones. Slight caress. Motherly. Enthralling. Although frustrating. Napoleon expected the next move from this hand. And the other went on to the offensive. It pitilessly attacked his nipples, brushing them, first. Devilishly playing with his chest hair. Then, the brush turned into soft pinches. Illya's lips went back on his own. As Napoleon tried to nip his lover's tongue, the mouth escaped again, and rushed towards the vulnerable nipples. Napoleon groaned. The hand on his sternum stretched its fingers. The other... was already sliding down. Instinctively, Napoleon's hand grabbed the defiant one, and flattened it on his belly. No resistance. But the lips, the tongue, and sometimes the teeth went on their tormenting job, smooth locks tickling his chest.

-Illya... Please...

A moan. A beg. And the lips were against his ear, hissing.

-You like that, my friend. You can't deny it... Or you are a liar... Something, down below, tells me another thing...

And the chuckling mouth made his way back.

-Illya... Let me love you...

-Shhhhh ! Let me do. I already told you that !

As to punish him, the lips kissed one nipple, the other, and stopped. Not really. They were now teasing his navel... His hand tried to fight, but Illya's strong fingers won the battle. The mouth went his way, knowing where it was going.

A cry. A strangled cry escaped Napoleon's mouth as his lover's lips were closing around his cock. As their pressure around him increased, he felt he was going crazy. A tongue pitilessly played with him, moving back and forth on him. Soft locks still tickling his groin, the tender skin of his thighs, his dark haired man gave up. One of his hand grabbed the blond mop and shoved it, following... or imposing... who could say... the rhythm. The other took hold of the hand still lying on his sternum and desperately squeezed it. He was panting, tossing and rolling. He was pure feeling. Sheer sensation. The so precise caress found echoes with the tickles of the blond hair.

-Illya... Please...

A moving beg.

A deft hand replaced the mouth, back against his ear, fair locks teasing his cheek. The fingers were stroking... Slowly. Frustratingly...

-What do you want, Polya ?

-Let me love you, too...

Chuckle, again... and warm, wet, hungry lips nibbled his own. Napoleon considered it as a yes. He released his friend's hand, caressed his shoulder, teased his vertebra, until he slid down his waist, aiming to his objective. A soft, exciting moan rewarded him and he could felt simultaneously his lover's blood pounding beneath his lips, in the soft temple, and in his hand, along the hard penis. The two hands were now moving in perfect harmony. The free ones clung to each other. Illya's to Napoleon's shoulder. Napoleon's to Illya's back.

Their eyes were closed, but one could still look at the other. The two men were out of the world... out of time... for an eternity, until their simultaneous explosion. A devastating wave of shared pleasure... A bottomless well of blissful delight.

They were vaguely dozing, Napoleon spooning his lover, leisurely shoving his hairs.

-Illya... you must have made a mistake. The Sleeping Beauty should have been fully awake... You'll have to try again, next night. And the night after. And...

A sleepy voice muttered.

-You are confusing, Napoleon : The Sleeping Beauty is not The One Thousand and One Nights Tales...

-One thousand and one nights... Well, er...

-Mmmmm ?

-Why only one thousand and ONE nights ?

-Napoleon... if you make it this way...

The voice wasn't sleepy anymore.

-Must we wait... for another night ?


End file.
